Musings on Brotherhood
by nhsweetcherry
Summary: A rambly, introspective little Thing from Scott's perspective.


_Lol, I keep trying to stop writing. You can see how well that's going…_

 _I don't own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story._

I remember when John was born. My parents had told me that I was going to be a big brother, that I would have someone to watch over, to protect, to love. I thought I understood what they were saying, and their words made me feel excited and proud because I thought it was all about me – the brave guardian. The big brother. The leader.

But the moment I looked down into that red, scrunched little face and heard that thin wail – the moment those eyes blinked open – I knew that I had had it all wrong.

It wasn't about me after all. It was all about John.

In an instant, my baby brother was wrapped around my heart as firmly as his tiny, tiny fingers were wrapped around my thumb.

Dad has told me that he and Mom expected my level of devotion to wane. They thought that I would eventually get tired of the baby's crying, of the stinky diapers, of the attention he demanded.

But I didn't. I consistently put John's needs before my own. I patiently endured his fussing and crying. I didn't try to compete with him for my parents' attention.

I took great joy in watching him grow, in seeing what an amazing person he was becoming, even as a very small child. It's possible that he can partially blame his love for reading on me, because at some point he showed a slight interest in books, and I responded by spending practically every free minute reading with him.

I diligently watched over him and stood between him and (perceived) danger on more than one occasion. If he was sick, I'd drag over a few blankets and sleep on the floor next to his bed. If he wanted one of my toys, I let him play with it without a whimper.

One of Mom's favorite stories was how one evening she walked away from the dinner table for a minute, and when she came back, my plate had no vegetables on it, while John's was piled high. Her first thought was that I simply hadn't wanted the vegetables, but when she asked me about it, I told her in all seriousness that I had given my vegetables to John because Mom was always telling me that they were good for us, and I wanted John to have plenty of what was good for him.

When Virgil came into our lives, it happened all over again – I discovered that it was possible to be one hundred percent in love with two brothers at the same time. The only problem was that I couldn't spend every minute with baby Virgil because I had to go to Kindergarten that year. So, instead, I indoctrinated John into the mentality and methodology of big brotherhood.

It was a good system, although John was a slightly more detached guardian than I was. I think that some of his skill at multitasking in Thunderbird Five comes from his days of keeping an eye on a baby while simultaneously teaching himself to read. I don't think Virgil suffered from John's laid-back style of supervision, in any case – particularly since, as Mom liked to remind us, we weren't actually parents, and there was in fact an adult nearby at all times.

Virgil probably doesn't remember this, but I was the one who gave him his first art set when he was two or three. It had been mine, and it was a cherished possession, but one pleading glance from those big brown eyes, and I handed it over to him. We drew and colored side by side many afternoons. He wasn't the greatest at sharing at that point, so I had to use whatever crayons or markers he had cast aside, but I didn't care – I was too busy watching in awe as my toddler brother churned out artwork better than anything I could draw.

Virgil didn't need much prompting to join the band of big brothers when Gordon came along, and I was glad to have him and John helping me – little Gordon was just as enchanting as my other brothers, but boy, was he a lot of work. By that time, both John and I were in school, but we still found ways to give of ourselves to the newest member of the Tracy family – I'd do my homework in the back yard while Gordon splashed happily in the kiddie pool for hours at a time. John would read him his favorite fish books over and over again. Virgil would draw him a picture of a squid – and a whale – and a shark – and a sea monster…well, you get the idea.

As I got older, Dad and Mom gently encouraged me to pursue my own interests some of the time, not just those of my brothers. At first, it was hard to spend time away from them, but as I look back on those days, I know that my parents did the right thing. They worked hard to make sure that, even as we remained close, we each developed our own individual personalities and skills.

We were all excited when we heard that there was one more Tracy on the way. None of us were prepared, however, for the tragic loss that was to be connected with baby Alan's arrival – Mom's death.

For a few months after that event, my world consisted entirely of my brothers. Mom's death had occurred near the end of the school year, so we all just skipped the final few weeks of school and stayed at home, cloistered together in our grief and pain. Dad wasn't around much, but to be honest, it took me a while to notice that – I was so busy and so…numb.

I cried every time baby Alan cried, his tears a stark reminder of my family's loss – and yet, as I rocked my tiny brother and made shushing noises, as I looked down into his red, scrunched face, I felt the same stirrings in my heart I had felt three times before. Even in the depths of my pain, I couldn't _not_ love Alan. In fact, the sorrow almost seemed to increase my love for him – to make me hope that this new little Tracy would never have to feel the kind of pain that the rest of us had. I think my other brothers picked up on this too, and all of us grew to share a kind of fierce protectiveness toward our youngest brother that persists to this day – much to Alan's chagrin.

Eventually Grandma stepped in, realized the state of things in the household, and dragged Dad back into our lives.

I remember very clearly, one night, Dad standing in the hallway outside Alan's room, his face set like stone as he listened to the baby wail. I had been awakened from a dead sleep and was exhausted and just _done_ with Dad's nonsense. I pushed past him into the room, picked up the baby, and practically dumped him into Dad's arms.

Dad had flinched, but his arms had automatically cradled the little form. He stared down at the crying baby, and his face gradually softened, finally melting into a sad little smile. Then he began shushing Alan and pacing up and down the hallway, gently rocking him.

Gradually the wails subsided. Alan gave one or two more dramatic, shuddering, hiccupping sobs and then opened his eyes. When I finally went back to bed, Dad was still standing in the hallway, his gaze locked onto Alan's, softly murmuring words of comfort and love.

I'd like to say I handed the reins back over to Dad with grace, but in reality, it was a rocky transition. As much as I was aching to have a parent again rather than practically being a parent myself, I was still in full protective mode over my brothers, and there were a few resounding arguments as Dad reasserted his authority and reminded me that he did, in fact, have some idea of how to run a family. I, of course, had a few things to say about his neglect over the previous months. In the end, though, there were apologies on both sides, and we gradually sorted things out.

Over time, life assumed a new normal, and we began spreading out again, venturing from the shelter of our home and taking interest in outside activities. I resisted this at first, but Dad was actually the one to assure me that it was healthy – a part of the healing process – and that it didn't have to keep us from being close to each other.

He was right. To this day, I'm amazed at the wide variety of interests held by myself and my brothers – and how that variety has not driven us apart. Even though we may roll our eyes at each other sometimes, and there's an abundance of brotherly teasing, the foundation of friendship and loyalty we laid as children has held firm.

As we grew older, our interests did carry us apart for a time. But then Dad introduced the idea of International Rescue, and as the concept grew and evolved into what it is today, we each came to realize how perfect it was – suited to each of our individual interests, but allowing us to work closely together, to remain a tightly-knit family…it was amazing.

I don't know what the future holds. Perhaps someday our paths will diverge again, but that'll be okay. Change is healthy, after all. And I know that we'll always be able to get together, and it'll be like we were never apart.

For right now, though, I'm just grateful that I get to see my brothers every day – that I have four incredible people to watch over, to protect, to love.

I can't imagine what life would have been like if it _had_ been all about me. I think being a big brother suits me much better.


End file.
